April Fool
by LadyCraulnober
Summary: Based on events in Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serous Earth. Remember Pearl? What had it been like to be the Joker's hostage? What happened to her? Reveiws welcome, ConCrit adored.


**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own or profit from Batman or DC comics. Hear that Joker?! I'm not making any money off this so you can stop going through my sock drawer!

Also, I kept a lot of the Dialogue the way it was in the comic. Other than that, enjoy, review, and tell your friends…. Or you may just find the Joker standing at the foot of your bed tonight with a bag for those greedily hoarded reviews.

**P.S **So very many thanks to princessbee for her wonderful review! She touched on some very valid points on the weaknesses in the original, so here it is, revised and even more horrifying than before!

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The room was cold and grey, with a single fake wood table in its center and a long two way mirror against the wall. Sitting, hunched and shaking, over the table was a slender girl with brown shoulder length hair and a Styrofoam cup cradled in her shaking hands. Her blue eyes were red rimmed from prolonged crying. A sharp sound caused her to glance up, starting slightly, but it was only the room's only door closing, admitting the White haired commissioner of the Gotham City Police.

"Ms. Reynolds." He greeted, his voice surprisingly gentle, like a favored grandfather. He smiled reassuringly at her over a folder of papers as he took a seat across from her. "I know it's been a hard day for you, but I would like it very much if you would tell me what happened at Arkham today."

Pearl swallowed hard and nodded, blinking back a fresh wave of tears. Her voice still trembled slightly as she took a breath and recounted her experience as the Joker's hostage.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Here comes Mr. Sweet-Tooth._ I thought, smiling despite myself as the Joker came closer and closer in the lunch line. He was grinning wider than usual, practically bouncing along as food was dropped onto his cracked lunch tray. I assumed it was because it was Wednesday, coffee cake day, and I always gave him extra dessert. I knew I wasn't supposed to, that I was supposed to be terrified of him. He was a mass murdering sociopath after all, but he'd always been nothing but charming in the lunch line, quick with a compliment or a joke. It was stupid, but I had gotten to like him.

"Have anything sweet for me today, Cupcake?" He asked, that rictus grin of his firmly in place as he paused at my station.

"Always, J-Man." I replied, placing the two biggest pieces of coffee cake on his tray. He chuckled and winked before moving away.

"You are far too good to me, dear Pearl." He'd called over his shoulder.

The Line moved pretty quickly after that. Even Two-Face, who usually made a fuss if he didn't get two of everything, accepted his food and hurried to his seat. I still wasn't worried. There were armed guards at every door and my shift was almost up. I was just getting ready to take my break when it happened. Lucky the Meth-Head sprang up from his seat and flung his tray at the head guard, hitting him square in the face. It must have been some kind of signal because the inmates surged to their feet, blocking the exits, swarming over the guards and wresting their weapons from them. There were screams and gunshots. But, for every inmate that fell, bleeding and writhing, to the floor, two guards would follow, motionless. I was frozen in my seat, watching the inmates bludgeon the remaining guards into unconsciousness, at least, I'd hoped they were unconscious.

Through it all, the Joker sat calmly in his seat, slowly chewing his food. He didn't rise again until he was finished, flicking crumbs from the corner of his mouth with long white fingers, and then he climbed easily onto one of the tables, arms raised for silence. I hadn't realized how loud it had gotten until silence finally descended. I was so focused on what was happening I was shocked when I felt someone grab me by the arms and drag me over to where the rest of the kitchen staff was, huddled on the ground, guns trained on them. _Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit._ I thought to myself, breath suddenly hard to come by. I looked up into the angry, scarred face of Harvey Dent and I knew I was going to die. Some of the other girls who worked the lunch line were crying quietly, moms who would never see their kids again, wives who would never get to kiss their husbands goodbye. I thought of my parents and hoped they'd be able to recognize me when I was dead. And then the Joker was talking, hands on his hips, somehow formidable even in the grey prison uniform. His green hair stood out garishly now that I had time to really notice. And, he was so pale, death among the living.

"Time to get to work everybody!" He called cheerfully, his voice carrying easily in the deathly stillness. "Harvey, you go break Isley out. She'll be useful. Crane you round up the doctors. Everyone else….go nuts!" He watched with an immensely satisfied expression as the inmates swarmed from the cafeteria, only a few henchmen staying behind as he hopped, spry as a cat, from the table. He was promptly handed a handgun, though he didn't slow his stride as he walked towards us. I could smell his breath he was so close, sour and hot. He suddenly crouched down in front of me, waving the gun in my face almost idly.

"Time to come with me, Pearlie. We're going to make a little phone call. Won't that be fun?" He said, all smiles and sweetness. I swallowed, somehow even more terrified, more frightened than I'd ever been in my life. When I didn't comply fast enough he smiled wider and grabbed my arm, his grip painfully tight. Most people think he'd be cold because of the color of his skin, but he's not. He's very warm, almost feverish. Still, it made me shiver. I was yanked to my feet and stumbled along behind him through the halls of Arkham. I'd never noticed how ugly it was, how unwelcoming and cold. Some of the fluorescent lights overhead were flickering and there were puddles I didn't want to think about in places on the floor.

I couldn't look away from the gun that swung lazily at the Joker's side, as if he wasn't concerned over running into opposition at all. I felt bile rise in my throat when I thought of what that meant, how many people were probably dead already, sightless eyes staring up at Arkham's ceilings. He was humming tunelessly as we ascended some stairs, a song that could have been played by a calliope. I felt wetness on my cheeks and knew I was crying, and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt cold, knowing he would only be inspired to cruelty by my displays of weakness, of fear.

"So how is it gong for you, saving up for that fancy art school?" He asked suddenly, quite conversationally. Still, I felt myself flinch as if I'd been struck, my muscles tensing so quickly it hurt. He laughed. Loudly. "That bad, huh?"

I tried to clear my throat so I could answer, but it was useless. That only seemed to amuse him more and he moved his hand from my arm, wrapping his own around my shoulders and hugging me tight against his side. I could hear distant screams and crashes now, gunshots. We passed our first corpse, a doctor in a white coat, all stained with blood. Somebody ran by, giving the Joker a wide berth. I didn't see their face but I heard their laughter, menacing still, but a pale echo of the Joker's.

We'd just reached the top of the flight when I saw my first glimmer of hope, a pair of guards, pistols at ready, were advancing on us. Their square jawed faces were grim, eyes mere slits.

"Let the girl go, Joker." One of them ordered, as if the force of his voice alone could make the Joker comply. He merely chuckled, a dark, slow sound that started deep in his slender throat and worked its way past his teeth.

"I said let her go, Clown! Put your damn hands on your head!" He repeated, taking another step towards us. I wanted to shout at him to run. Instead, all I could do was whimper a little. Joker chuckled again, looking down at me, held tightly to his side. He winked at me and leaned close, moving with the swiftness of a striking snake, pressing crimson lips to mine in a kiss. Except, it wasn't really a kiss, it was a taunt, like Bugs Bunny, only far, far more sinister. He was letting me know he was still in control, that this was his game we were playing, but the rules were shifting like sand under my feet.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he shoved me away from him. I hit the wall hard and slid into a sitting position, unable to stand with my knees shaking like they were. I watched from between my fingers as the guards converged on him, one stepping behind the Ace of Knaves, producing a pair of cuffs. I saw the Joker's smile widen, curling up at the ends like a Cheshire cat. That was when I knew something was very, very wrong. Again he moved with that preternatural swiftness, striking the guard in front of him by slamming his forehead against him. He laughed as he fell to the ground, landing on his rump, a cackle that erupted from his throat like crows taking wing. He then swung around taking hold of the handcuffs and wrenching them from the other guard's grip.

The guard went for his gun, but the Joker was faster, swinging the cuffs in a circular motion and then bringing them about in a sideways slash that had the loose, curved end knifing through the side of his neck. Somehow, I still heard him gurgling over my scream. I felt warm blood spattered across my cheeks as the Joker gave the cuffs a brutal tug, and I was frozen, watching in nauseated horror as he fell to the ground, his throat missing. All that was left was a gaping bloody cavern. The other guard screamed too, a strangely high pitched sound as he surged to his feet. He seemed to have lost the urge to apprehend the Joker, but the Joker wasn't done playing. He leveled the fallen guard's gun and fired once. There was a loud crack, a grunt, and the Joker's second victim fell, head turned sideways, staring sightlessly at the wall, a widening pool of blood coloring the floor a sticky sickly crimson.

I pushed myself against the wall, trying to disappear in it, to escape the Joker's mad laughter, the strange cold glint in his eyes. He was enjoying this! He was skipping towards me, did a giddy little twirl before he stooped, crouched before me as though studying some fascinating animal that had wandered into his yard.

"You sure look pretty covered in blood." He murmured. I flinched, feeling my lower lip tremble. "Why, Pearl Darling, whatever could be the matter?" He asked, eyes widening, expression suddenly innocently enquiring.

"I'm scared." I managed to whisper, unabashedly truthful in my fear. He'd just killed two men right in front of me, without remorse. It was really starting to sink in, all those stories were suddenly real and terrifying. This man was irrevocably insane, immoral and dangerous. He was going to kill me.

"Oh, you poor dear. Look at it this way. It lets you know you're alive for the time being." He told me with that dark chuckle of his, gripping me by the hands and pulling me to my feet so suddenly that I stumbled against him, my cheek pressed to his chest. I could hear his heart beating, a steady calm tempo completely at odds with the violent tattoo of my own. I could feel the slow interplay of muscle and sinew as he craned his neck to look down at me, I actually felt the cold laughter building in his chest before it burst from his lips.

"I always did like you, Pretty Pearl." He said, and I found myself following him awkwardly in an impromptu waltz. His grip on my hands was like iron, it was all I could do to keep from falling my knees shook so violently. I felt my heels slip sliding in blood, thought I'd bumped one of the corpses and shivered. He placed one of my hands on his shoulder, dropping his own to my waist, stroking up and down my side as we danced our way down the hall, the sounds of screams and gunshots all I could hear. I wonder what music was playing in his head.

Finally, we reached what I assumed was out destination, Jerimiah Arkham's office. It was at least carpeted, and while still shabby, not nearly as derelict as the rest of the building. Joker let go of me and I sank into a chair that was pushed against the wall, trying not to look at the hand that rested on the floor, the body it was attached to still behind the desk in a widening pool of blood that glistened black on the dark carpet. Instead I found myself watching him, ghostly white and grinning, lower himself into the chair behind the desk. He began to rifle through doors like a child raiding his parent's drawers for candy or money before he rose again, walking slowly towards me.

"You're an artist, aren't ya? Draw me something." He ordered. I nodded stupidly, accepting the clipboard and paper and a plain number two pencil. "Thatta girl." He purred, kissing my forehead and mussing my hair playfully before seating himself behind the desk again and picking up the receiver of Dr. Arkham's shiny black phone. Dutifully I bent my head and began to draw, glancing up now and then and regretting it every time. It was unnerving, the way he absently waved the gun around, his gaze trained on me as he waited for whoever he was calling to answer. I should have been paying attention to what I was putting on the paper, maybe focusing on keeping my hand from shaking, but I didn't want to take my eyes off him for too long, I couldn't. When they did he became even more animated. I didn't think his smile could get any wider, any more menacing, but the look on is face was like someone sinking their teeth into cake. I shuddered.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Batman scowled deeply as he entered the commissioner's office, wrapping his black cape around his muscular frame.

"Sorry I'm late commissioner. Problems out of town." He paused, eyes roving from face to haggard face and he wondered if he really wanted to ask his next question. "What's up?"

"There's been a riot at Arkham Asylum, that's what's up." Gordan replied, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "The inmates seized control of the building this afternoon. We still don't know how it happened. They're holding the Asylum Staff hostage, making all kinds of crazy demands." Gordan shook his head, shoulders bowed. "We've had to send in furniture, store dummies, food, clothing…" He trailed off, raising troubled eyes to Batman.

"And?" The Dark Knight prompted, growing more and more uneasy, crossing his arms over his chest.

"They say there's only one final demand, thank god. They've been waiting to talk to you, personally." He finished, still holding the receiver.

"I see." Batman muttered, scowling even further. Gordon held the receiver out to him.

"It's the Joker."

The Batman accepted the phone wordlessly, setting it on the desk and instead putting on the speaker-phone. He wanted everyone to hear this, wanted there to be no mistake about what was happening.

"Joker? Are you there? What do you want?"

"Why hello, Big Bat! How's it hangin'?" The Joker's voice came scratchily over the speaker.

"Don't waste my time Joker, just tell me what it is you want." Batman snarled.

"Oh I think you can guess. We want you. In here with us. In the madhouse. Where you belong." The Joker replied.

"And if I refuse?" Batman asked, testing the waters, trying to get a feel for what his nemesis had planned.

_Skrit Skritch_. "Well, we have so many friends here. Say hello to Pearl." There was a brief pause and a young woman's voice replaced the Joker's.

"Oh buh-bat-bat-bat oh.." She sobbed.

"Such a crybaby isn't she?" The Joker laughed. _Skrit Skritcht._

"What's that noise?" Gordan wondered aloud. "What's he doing? You hear that? Scratching."

"Patia is nineteen years old." The Joker continued. _Skrit Skritch._

"She just started work in the kitchens here to earn some extra money. She wants to be an artist, don't you, Pearl?" _Skrit Skritcht. _They could hear the girl sobbing in the background and wondered what it was the Joker was doing to her. _Skrit._

"She just drew me a beautiful portrait." _Skrit Skritch. _"She drew it with this pencil. The one I'm Sharpening. _**Skrit!**_ "Open your eyes wide now, Pearl, darling. Beautiful. Blue. Oh."

"**Jesus no**!" Batman howled over the sound of the girl's pained shriek. It rang in his ears and raised the hairs on his arms. He saw one of Gordon's men retching in a trash bin. He felt painfully close to puking as well.

"You have half an hour…and bring a white stick."

"No. **NO!**'

"Ahahahahahahahahahaha!" The Joker cackled madly, like a crow drunk on dark ambition before the phone clicked and the line went dead.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

I don't know how long I sat in that room with the Joker, watching him chat on the phone, my drawing in one hand, his gun in another. It felt like hours. He was making the most outlandish demands, I kept waiting for the commissioner to say no, waiting for him to lose his patience and shoot me as an example, but he didn't, and then Batman got on the phone. I felt relief for a moment, but it was quickly replaced by dread when the Joker took the phone back, sharpening a pencil slowly, his eyes on mine. He was ginning like a Cheshire cat and I could feel a bucket of ice cascade into my stomach. He rose languidly to his feet, sidling around the desk towards me, the pencil waggling between his index finger and his thumb. My mind was blank except the dread as he gripped my wrist and tugged me from the chair, seating himself instead and tugging me into his lap. I didn't even want to wonder what he was going to do. And then he started talking about my eyes. _Beautiful. Blue. _I was aware of the cord of the phone across my neck, the way he rested it against his shoulder and wrapped his lean arm around my waist, stroking one of my hands, bringing the pencil closer and closer to my face. I felt a fresh wave of tears well in my eyes, tried to squirm free, but he held me tightly, a flicker of irritation appearing in his expression.

I stopped squirming, unsure. If I angered him it could be worse, but what about what he had planned already?

_Oh god, I'm gonna be sick._ I thought in a panic, my hands clammy, bile rising in my throat once more. And then the penil was clattering to the floor. I blinked in surprise and cast him a questioning glance. It wasn't like him to show mercy, not according to the stories, not from what I'd seen myself. He was still stroking my hand with his thumb. It was oddly comforting. Maybe…maybe he wasn't going to hurt me after all. Maybe It had been a good idea to give him all those extra desserts. If I closed my eyes I could almost pretend this wasn't what was happening.

I tried that, but he stopped stroking my hand. I didn't even have time to wonder if I'd made him angry. He took my index finger and I felt it wrenched the wrong way, heard the snap before I felt the pain. I screamed, trying again to twist free. He let me this time, let me fall to the floor and crawl to the corner of the room, cradling my hand. He then hung up, slamming the receiver back down, still cackling. I wanted to run for the door, but my legs wouldn't obey me. They felt like rubber, boneless and useless and numb. All I could do was stare as he rose from his seat, lazily making his way towards me.

The gun was back and he ran it along my cheek in a parody of a caress. I shivered, fresh tears staining my cheeks.

"P-please duh-duh-don't." I stammered. It was pathetic, I knew, and since when had begging ever had any affect on the Joker? He was merciless. Still, I begged, and he laughed. He was close again, I was painfully aware of his proximity, could feel the heat coming off him.

"Poor Pearl." he cooed, pressing his red lips to my cheek, patting my head again. "Come along now. We're expecting company." He informed me, gripping my upper arm in a viselike grip and tugging me back out into the hall, down the stairs and through the maze that was Arkham until we came to a huge set of double doors. The exit. Freedom was so close, I could make a break for it, I could push through those doors and run, but I'd be gunned down before I took three steps. Instead I stood mutely beside the Joker as he continued to hum and chuckle and banter with me, even though I was less than responsive.

Every now and then he'd press the gun against me, probably just for the reaction it elicited, run it along my back, against my cheek, my neck, my side, all the while he had one arm slung companionably around my shoulders. My finger felt as I it were on fire, bent at an odd angle and swollen purple. Gradually other bodies began to fill the foyer, doctors, a few janitors, some of the other girls who worked the lunch line, even a few guards. He shot a few of them without taking his eye off the door I jumped at each gunshot, but I couldn't cry. I felt hollow, burned from the inside out until there was nothing left. The Joker pinched my cheek, leaning down so he was at eye level with me. I never noticed how tall he was.

"Now, you stay put Cupcake." He said, his voice syrupy sweet, before he moved to the head of the crowd, pushing the doors open to greet the black caped man who was approaching. Batman. I dared hope I might live to see the end of this nightmare.

"I'm here, Joker. Release the hostages." He said, no _commanded._

"You heard him folks. Hit the trail!" Joker said, looking over his shoulder at us. It took a moment for his words to register, but none of us questioned our good fortune as we filed out into the sun. I had barely taken four steps when I felt the Joker's hands on me again, gripping me tightly, around the waist. I could feel him pressed up against me.

"Bye, Pearl. Lets do this again sometime." He whispered, lips against the rim of my ear, as if we'd been on some marvelous date. Batman looked confused.

"But what about her **eyes? **You said…" He muttered, casting the Joker what I could only assume was a questioning gaze.

"April Fool!" Joker crowed, throwing his head back and cackling uncontrollably. I walked away, towards the street and my car as quickly as I dared. I was afraid if I started running I wouldn't be able to stop.


End file.
